Twisting Paths
by Jest'lyn Tal
Summary: HHDoctor Who Crossover: Rumors of lights in the sky, French soldiers who do not die when shot, and a massing of troops, bring the Hotspur and her crew in to investigate. What they find will be more than even their wildest imaginations could have expected
1. Chapter 1

"Where are you? Oh, yes. There you are. Imagine such a small wire being so crucial," the light voice, accented with a British-like cadence, seemed to be directing its comments to the circular console that occupied the center of the ship's cavernous control room. The speaker himself lay on the deck plates, half beneath the shelf of that console, as he sorted through the wires that hung down like vines in a dusty jungle. 

"Doctor?" a woman asked as she walked in from the aft corridor, skirts swishing lightly. 

"Just a minute, Charley, I almost...Ow!" he jerked back from beneath the console and put his finger promptly in his mouth. 

The blond woman winced, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to distract you. Are you quite alright?" 

"Yes, yes. Just fine. Though I fear that the TARDIS has just about had it with my tinkering at the moment," he stood up, nearly six feet in height once stretched out. Hands brushed against his trousers and he reached for the sea green frock coat that hung over a nearby seat. "Poor old thing. Not that I blame her. It'd been a bit of a rough ride for the past few weeks, hasn't it?" 

Charley wrinkled her nose as she smiled and made her way over. "Nothing beyond the usual at any rate. Gallivanting through time and space, stopping a revolution here, creating one there. Finding monsters and mad experiments between the cracks." 

"Well I guess when you put it that way." The Doctor smiled at her. He had lived many lives, the death of one body simply leading to a life in another through a Time Lord's trick of regeneration. Yet even through everything about his body and even aspects of his personality would change, there were somethings that never altered. Traits that were undeniably and utterly the Doctor's. His curiosity, his sense of adventure, the drive to wander and quite tangibly, the way his smile would transform his face into a joy that could be almost painful in its purity. This regeneration, his Eighth, was fairly refined in features. The term Byronesque had been applied to him so many times it was almost a cliche. With that frame work, his expressions could reach a school boy's measure of clarity in a heartbeat. "But, wait now. Don't tell me all this has become old hat to you?" 

She laughed and walked the rest of the way over, hands trailing on the console. "Old hat? What, careening from place to place with hardly a breath between? You are forgetting exactly who you are traveling with. I'm Charley Pollard, Ed..." 

"...Edwardian Adventuress..." they finished at the same time. 

"Yes, I know," his voice dropped to a teasing intimacy as he held out his elbow to her, "But even an Adventuress such as yourself needs a break every once in a while." 

She looked skeptical, "A break?" 

"Well, why not a break? According to the TARDIS we've landed in France. Isn't that nice? France." 

"France," she repeated dubiously. 

"Yes, France. Late Eighteenth century, I should think," the Doctor frowned and began steering her towards the door, "Come now, Charley. Home to Paris, city of lights and love. Birthplace of such marvelous folks as Louie the Fourteenth and Madame de Pompadour..." 

She couldn't help it. She laughed, "I'm hardly dressed for the French court or Napoleon, Doctor. Nor are you." 

His smile was charming, innocent and almost painfully gleeful as he opened the door. "Nonsense. We're dressed for whatever occasion we deem suitable." 

"Mmm... famous last words," Charley said in mock dire tones. But, even if she did have reservations, she followed him out, nearly as eager as he was to see what waited. 

The sun was shining and the scent that was carried to them on the breeze was crisp. The doctor inhaled deeply of it and pointed, "Look. That way. I'd guess that the ocean isn't more than a mile that way. Maybe even less." 

"That would seem to be the only thing around for miles," Charley raised a hand to her hat and turned to look. "It's all woods and scrub as far as the eye can see." 

"Not quite. There's a road there. Come on. Let's see where it leads, shall we?" 

Gravel and sand crunched beneath their feet as they made their way. "Do you think there is a town up ahead? The road twists and turns too much to see." Charley craned her neck around anyway. 

"It's following the shore line," the doctor explained and lowered his voice, "We're angling closer, you know." 

"Well, I suppose that worst to worst we have a day at the beach out of the venture. Could be quite peaceful," Charley said cheerfully. 

The doctor merely hmmed an answer. Whether some sight or sense had tipped him off, he didn't say, but within a few more moments of walking the white flapping fabric of several tents set up near a crossroads could be seen. Tents, horses, and a rather large group of men in the uniforms of the French military. 

"Is that an encampment of sorts?" Charley asked, blue eyes widening in alarm. 

"Why, yes, I suppose it is. See? They've got the colors run up and the supplies are over there..." The Doctor dropped his voice. 

"They look as if they are assembled for a battle." 

"I'd imagine they are. This time period is fairly rift with the French preparing for battles of one sort of another," the doctor smiled at her and kept walking forward. 

"Doctor?" 

"Of course, it could be something much more simple..." 

"Doctor..." 

"Though, the proximity to the coast is very telling, don't you think? I wonder if they could be persuaded to show us much or if they'll try to be close-lipped about it." 

"To a man and woman who speak in a very clear English accents?" Charley had grabbed his arm, finally, "I think they'll most likely to show us their guns!" 

The Doctor stopped and stared at her. "I don't have an... oh. Oh. I see..." Clearly, the thought of their accents, or the accent the TARDIS conveyed for him at least, hadn't occurred to him. "You might have a point there." 

It was about that time that the shouts from the camp at the sight of two strangers, standing on a road that should have been blockaded, rang out. 

"Perhaps we'd better..." 

"Yes..." 

The Doctor took Charley's hand and they turned, running. Gunfire wasn't far behind them. 


	2. Chapter 2

The spider crawled over the sand with steps as mincing as those of a court lady seeking her way around mud puddles. A rock here, a bit of driftwood there, the terrain was all the same to it. When sand gave way to the rough fibers of scratchy wool, it's only reaction was to take a couple more steps before it extended its rather hairy front leg to delicately probe what might be coming. 

The probing didn't protect it. 

The spider hardly could have anticipated the large calloused hand that knocked it yards from its perch in an instant. The hiss of inhalation from the hand's owner was met with a hush. 

"Mind it, Styles!" An older man, likewise crouched on the hill, admonished. His face was amiable but well lined with a life at sea. 

Styles didn't look up at first, more concerned with making sure that the spider was well and truly evicted than with listening with his shipmate's caution. "It was a spider, Matthews. Crawling up on me." 

"Your flapping gives us away and you'll have worse than a bitty spider to grouse on," Matthews retorted. "You know Captain's orders and Lt. Bush is watching." 

Styles looked up at him. Matthew was wearing that worried and annoyed expression that he so often did when he got going on 'warnings'. 

Not that Styles was complaining. By now he'd gotten well used to it and it wasn't a bad thing to have a friend watching your back. Even against yourself. 

Before he'd met Matthews, Styles had experienced only the roughest side to life in the Navy. He'd become well acquainted with other Enlisted who'd just as soon beat you as look at you and Officers who thought you were little better than cattle to be spent. 

Styles had to fight for everything he got — with fists, teeth and feet. Those were the only things that a person could really count on in the end, after all, and he learned well and good how to use them. There were few that could beat him as a brawler one-on-one. 

Of course it was only a matter of time until he got cornered by a trio. He'd thought he'd been done for, until Matthews had waded in to take some of the heat off. The two had struck up a wary friendship as a result. As the years past and the two managed to pull the same ship assignments, Matthews curbed some of Style's rougher edges and Matthews got the benefit of Style's back up. When Matthews became Bos'un, it wasn't a surprise that Style's was promoted to Bos'un's mate. Strong arm and right hand. 

So, Styles could afford to at least pretend to listen to Matthews on occasion. A cautious glance over his shoulder found the straight backed and dark clad Lt. Bush dividing his attention between preparations and those on watch. The broad hat shadowed the Lieutenant's angular face and it didn't look like he was watching just now. But Styles knew from grim experience that the strict Lieutenant had eyes like a hawk. 

His broad face crinkled into a frown. "Wasn't bitty," he pointed out, but fell silent anyway. 

For a few moments. 

"Just don't see why the Marines couldn't have done this part on their own. That's all I'm saying." Styles looked over his shoulder again as he spoke. The marines, lobster red and lined up, were assembling on the beach. Their incursion into French territory was to be swift and silent, and therefore needed to be prepared for even the more. 

"Because they are getting all ready to go trotting up that road," Matthews said patiently, "It doesn't make sense to have some of them wait here to look-out, when we're going to wait here with the boats anyway." 

"Yeah. Well. I don't see why we've got to be sitting here, watching for Frenchies that aren't coming." Style's scowled. "Spend all day out here in the sun just to row them back." 

"Better than sitting on the ship watching the Captain pace. Now hush it." 

Styles snorted and looked back over the hill, keeping a look out towards the north. 

Matthews, assured that Styles was on task once more, turned towards the south. It took second to realize that something was happening in that direction. Something like two people running directly towards their little cove. "Styles!" he said, slowly. Then more urgently. "Get Lt. Bush, now!" 

Dark eyes whipped to the south but Styles wasted no time, swearing and belly crawling a few yards down before he found his feet in a crouch and went racing for the Officer. 

"Lieutenant!" he gasped. 

Lt. Bush's sharp blue eyes focused on the sailor, even before he'd quite made conversational range. Strong strides brought Bush to meet him nearly half way, "What is it Styles?" 

"'s a man and a woman running, Sir. Looks like from French soldiers." Styles reported. Bush's eyebrows rose, "An' it looks like they are coming this way!" 

Bush reached for his spyglass and made for the hill, his hand darting out to indicate about eight of the Marines waiting, "You lot, come with me." 

They tramped up the hill, looking more to speed than silence at the moment. Bush hit the sand next to a waiting Matthews, not quite catching the odd expression on the older sailor's face as he looked from the running couple to the Lieutenant and back again. 

"It looks like about six of the Frenchies, Lieutenant. And the man and woman, they don't seem quite right..." Matthews trailed off. 

"What do you mean?" Bush was already bringing the spyglass around, squinting through it to get a proper look. 

Blurry lines told an initial story within its first impressions. The man and woman did seem to be dressed a little oddly. Had there been time to process what was seen and find the words, Bush might have realized that it was just little differences in fashion. A jacket that was not quite tailored as it should be, the skirt that wasn't as voluminous as the proper petticoats beneath should have deemed. But it was the soldiers that mattered. He looked to them and frowned. 

Undoubtedly French. Their faces were shadowed but their expressions, all, were grim and flat. He twisted the fine detail for the glass. 

That couldn't be right. 

They were expressionless. 

Scared soldiers, yes, might adopt such a mask but where could be the fear in chasing an unarmed man and woman? 

"I want you men primed and ready, spread out. When they pass by, we'll trap them both in the middle," Bush ordered curtly. 

He shifted his gaze, trying to focus on the runners, trying to understand. The woman's blond hair streamed out behind her. She was young. Expression concerned, but not terrified. She was panting. The man, he was in the lead a little and he... 

Bush pulled back from the spyglass in shock, recoiling from the trusted device as it quite calmly showed him the impossible. 

"Lieutenant?" Matthews asked, his pistol in hand and ready but his gaze caught by the sudden pallor of his commanding officer's face. 

Bush brought up the spyglass again and his jaw hardened into resolve. "Get ready to move on my order." He said and raised a hand. 

Whether the running man had his face or not, it changed nothing about what was needed. 

There would be time to ask questions later. 


	3. Chapter 3

The pop of a pistol sending a rather large misshapen lump of metal flying through the air at you was all the more alarming because one could never really tell, when one was running, whether it was close to hitting or not.

Not that the Doctor was worried. No, never!

But it really was becoming an alarming situation. The road did not seem to be leading them to any obliging cover, the soldiers were displaying quite remarkable athleticism in closing the distance on them, and frankly, there was a stone in his shoe.

How on earth had that gotten there?

Point being, that unless something unexpected happened, he was going to need to come up with a way out of this and soon.

Think. Think. Think.

Imitating a Superior Officer?

Too late, running made that rather unlikely.

Innocent townsfolk?

Possible. But with the likely state of French affairs at the moment, who could tell what the soldiers might categorize as 'innocent'?

Charlie's gasp (different from her panting for breath by a few notable inflections) snapped his attention back from his scenario searching.

Oh look! Something unexpected!

"Halt!" the command came from the British Naval Officer standing several yards in front of them, pointing a pistol in their direction. Well, yes. Hopefully it was meant for the French but it was in his and Charley's direction as well.

The Officer… Lieutenant…. wasn't not alone. Several more of his fellows had popped up like little badgers to... yes... fairly surround. Of course, halting wasn't as easy as the Lieutenant seemed to like to think. There were angry French behind...

The Doctor's eyes first widened and then narrowed as he skidded to a stop as more than just the meaning of the Officer's uniform sunk in. Charley oompphed as she bumped into him. The two tottered and she yelped out in part surprise and part indignation.

Stopped. There. But now rather unfortunately in a bad position should the French be less cooperative. Which, he didn't think they were going to be, so, he grabbed his companion's arm. "Charley, get..."

Several pistol shots flew over their head for the British.

"… down!" Both men looked to the sources of their echoes, the same word chosen but the inflections subtly different.

Blue eyes locked onto blue eyes for a split second, before the Lieutenant shouted on the next breath, "Fire!"

The British fired in a rapid succession, plumes of thin smoke trailing as the primitive projectiles were sent hurtling into the oncoming men. Some of the French soldiers jerked backwards at the impacts, some leveled their own weapons in return to the new targets and fired whatever charges had not already been wasted.

But every single one of them kept coming...


	4. Chapter 4

Marines in the British Navy were, in general, hard men. The rigors of a life at sea in addition to the rigors of a life of battle inevitably created men who learned to handle the horrifying aspects of death with as much, or better, calm than could be expected of anyone.

In addition, those men serving under Captain Hornblower and his Lieutenants had the rare benefit of good officers that could, more or less, be trusted. Obedience and courage were easier to find when the Captain so often pulled miracles from the air, after all.

The fact that the French weren't falling wasn't an instant realization since aim was so often a touchy thing. The British fired. The French kept coming. The second salvo came.

But then one of the French soldiers took a musket ball to chest, fabric visibly blown out his back, and yet still reached out to clench fingers around the throat of the Marine who fired. The wet snap was nearly the end of all their valor. Their shots expended, the Marines fell back, stunned.

They fell back but the civilian man and woman were still crouched, having not yet found their feet for moving.

"Sword and bayonet!" Lt. Bush's roar and the drawing of his saber were emphasized by a flourish of the blade. The gesture lent weight to the command as he charged back in.

Alone.

For endless seconds, the men were too caught in shock to respond. They gave ground for another pace by simple inertia.

"Damn!" Styles shouted, weight visibly shifting. With a roar less literate than Bush's but a great deal more angry, he surged forward. The sailor had lost any weapon he'd brought in the initial clash and he now was armed with a cudgel of driftwood.

That broke the freeze. Matthews was only a few beats behind him and the Marines shook off the surprise to charge back as well.

"Mind your tongue, Mr. Styles!"

"...bloody..."

"Doctor!" The girl cried out, scrambling back on hands and knees as one of the French soldiers ignored the English and strode towards her.

"Just a minute..." the response was audibly tense despite an easy lilt.

The girl grunted as she dove to the side, picking up one of the fallen guns and brandishing it while still on her knees. "You just back off now!"

Even features, totally symmetrical and under different circumstances perhaps even considered handsome, didn't even register that she'd spoken. The soldier raised his blade and brought it down in a glittering half circle.

Sand flew and the girl fell back, instinctively shielding her eyes. The clang of metal against metal was the first clue that she was, perhaps, not going to die. The next was the sight of the one of the Englishmen, badly extended in what must have been quite a run to get to her in time, blocking the French sword with his own.

The sunlight made a stark profile of the Officer's features and woman froze, staring up at him.

"Move!" Lt. Bush snapped and pushed back on the French soldier as best he could from his positioning. The soldier didn't budge and Bush was forced to give way for better footing. If the girl hadn't been abandoned as a target, it would have been a near thing to even try to block a second strike against her. But? Even though the French were acting unnaturally, this one was apparently natural enough to leave off the harrying of a helpless woman in the face of a real enemy.

"...but!" the girl protested but moved back regardless.

The French soldier was already advancing, bringing the sword up again like a scythe rather than a sword. Clumsy. Inelegant. The opening left for his heart was a wide as a door.

Bush was not a fool. Any armor that could repel musket-fire would certainly repel a sword. So he twisted his arm, bringing his blade in a swing aimed solely to slice through that pale French throat. There was no blocking it.

There was also no blood. No scream. And the blade came to a jarring stop only a third of the way through.

The soldier, however, did not. He stepped forward, the metal of the sword screeching in protest as it was dragged through his neck, and grabbed Bush by the throat

Then he began to squeeze.

It went from pressure to pain in a second. There was no air to shout and the frantic punch he aimed for the French soldier's face gained not even a blink. Blood rushed in his ears and he could hear the girl screaming.

It took feeling the impact along the side of his body to realize he'd been dropped. Sparkles still danced in front of his eyes as he tried to stand up again.

"Oh, don't try to get up!" The concerned voice was accompanied by soft hands at his arm. He shrugged his shoulder hard, instinctively resisting the encumbrance when things were by no means safe. A sound of feminine frustration, much like a chuff was his reward and the hands tugging at his arm again, "Really, now! They are…well… not gone but….gone enough that you can take a moment, certainly!"

He stopped trying to shake her off, instead accepting that a civilian woman in a battle field would be a little clingy and that this must be endured.

Plus, the sounds of sword play had stopped and the world was fading back into clearer vision around him.

"More than a moment, I think!" It was his own voice coming from behind him but it was impossibly cheery. "Took me time to find the setting, mind you. But? Good old 234 always works…"

Lt. Bush stood up slowly, drawing himself up to his full height as he turned to take a good look at the smiling man in the frock coat who was pocketing what looked like a metal cylinder.

All around them, the French soldiers had collapsed where they stood. Fallen with limbs akimbo to the ground.

The man with William Bush's face smiled guilelessly, "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

"First Leftenant Bush," was the slightly rasping reply from the Officer. He looked to the remaining Marines and his lips thinned at their state or perhaps their diminished number. Blue eyes flicked back to the Doctor warily even as he raised his voice again, "Matthews, everyone back to the beach now. Bring the fallen."

"Probably a good idea, I fear. These fellows weren't exactly playing fair were they?" The Doctor crouched by the side of the Frenchman. "Let's take a look see. Polydenum alloy, wires, synth-skin. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make some very realistic looking robots. Especially for the eighteenth century."

"You mean they aren't real?" the blonde woman had moved, looking over the Doctor's shoulder now with all the signs of excited curiosity.

"No, they're real. They're also machines." the Doctor reached out a hand to the gaping hole made by the sword, "See? Careful. Might spark a bit there. That sword nearly did the job."

"I'll swing harder next time," Bush said with a razor edge of sarcasm, "Pick him…it up."

The Doctor blinked, looking back to Bush who had not strayed a single step, "Sorry, I didn't realize you were still here. What, then?"

"Pick up the soldier," Bush repeated, voice hard. "We're going back to the ship."

"Now, look here," the Doctor protested, "It's not that I'm a helpful fellow, but I can hardly see how I can be of assistance. Bad back, you see. And you don't need a land lover like myself mucking about on your vessel."

"Uh, yes. He can hardly..eerr…stand." Charlie chimed in a bit lamely. "And he gets seasick."

"Now." Bush said, blue eyes like flint. "Or you'll be shot."

The Doctor looked offended. "Well. When you put it that way," he turned, "Alright, Charlie. Give me a hand here."

It occurred to Charlie that it had been a very poor and very brief showing of evasion from the Doctor. In fact, it was the worst attempt to avoid capture that she'd ever seen from him.

He really was quite transparent at times.

* * *

I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who reviewed - I know I didn't respond at the time but you guys never let me forget that there were folks out there that wanted to read more.

I apologize for the delay - and even more? I apologize for any details I might have gottten wrong about Bush and the Marines. Part of the delay has been realizing that I've forgotten too much about that series and feeling like I've needed to watch it again to get everything right. I finally decided that it is better to get something out, even if a detail is off, and keep moving forward. Hope that suits!

Waterfall - Glad the reactions rang true to you. I didn't want to overplay it too much but also was worried I wan't making them freaked enough as well. Glad I got the balance right! As for Eight/Charlie? Weeelll I don't want to give everything away but there's definitely going to be some romance going on here. Even if just in the subtext ;)

Bluedragon1836 - Yay! I hooked you and kept you! Let me know if you are still hooked ;)

El Gringo Loco - I'm glad that it was flexible enough to catch you as a Hornblower fan. I'm trying to make sure that neither world is too heavily preferenced. Thanks for letting me know I'm on the right track.

Shezzawatto - Thanks for the feedback on the potential anachronisms. My husband is in the Navy and I actually struggled with a moment on that. Was billet not English verbiage? Was it too modern? Ship duty sounded too generic... In a way I'm glad to hear that assignment didn't fit right - I didn't think I had it myself. But I'm still not sure I know of what would have seemed right to me. If I find it! I'll update it. Thanks for taking the time to tell me :)

AngelOfTheMoor - Glad you like the idea of them together - and I hope that the interaction is living up to some of your early expectations. As a note? I checked IMBD for Paul McGann's height. It has him at 5' 8". Now, that is a few inches off from 6ft, but that's why I said nearly. I wouldn't have guessed he was that tall either! Thanks again for reviewing


	5. Chapter 5

Standard Disclaimers:

I make no money from this. I am neither the BBC nor A&E and therefore have no claim on any of the characters depicted in these stories.

… Except for the fourth sailor on the left. I claim him!

* * *

Hotspur with her twenty 9 pounder cannons and four carronades may not have been the most dominating ship to ever sail British waters. However, in all fairness, Charlie was unfamiliar with the vessel's competition.

"What a lovely ship!" She leaned forward to take in the sight as the long boats approached. She looked over her shoulder to the Doctor, placidly seated behind her, "What kind is it then?"

"It's a sloop, Charlie," the Doctor leaned forward as well to point. "See? You can tell by the number of masts."

"She's not very big, is she?" Charlie noted.

"Now, Charlie. It's quite rude to disparage the size of a man's ship!"

Whether Charlotte Pollard, daughter of Lady Louisa Pollard and product of her upbringing and time, completely understood the age-old innuendo being brought to bear was questionable. On the other hand, the Doctor's teasing tone was indisputable. The sailors who overheard, understood well enough and displeasure tempered with unwilling humor rippled through them at the implied insult.

"Look sharply," Bush's voice was a reprimand. He watched none of them, but the shoreline instead as it slowly retreated. "Matthews, anything on the horizon?"

"Nothing but the Hotspur, Lieutenant."

"Matthews?" the Doctor straightened, "I knew a Matthews once! An excellent man. I don't suppose your grandfather was from Cardiff by any chance?"

"No," Matthews replied slowly, sounded dubious.

"Do you always talk this much?" Bush asked sharply.

"Frequently," the Doctor agreed, undimmed. "What about you, Lieutenant?"

"Infrequently."

"Well, that will be change," Charlie said. She frowned, "So, isn't anyone going to say anything, then?"

"Whatever do you mean, Charlie?" the Doctor asked.

"I mean about the fact that you two look like brothers. Well, no. Not even that. Twins more like." She craned to look from face to face, "Except the Lieutenant looks older."

Bush glanced to the woman, this Charlie, and found himself being dissected by a pair of lovely blue eyes. It was startling, though not because he was unfamiliar with scrutiny. As an officer, he could quite honestly claim he'd been inspected by the hardest and had no problems letting his demeanor speak for itself.

But he was certainly not used to receiving such gimlet study from a woman. Such sharpness of focus, of purpose, was deemed unfashionable for a lady of breeding to so openly display, even to someone of the lower class, much less to one far above her station.

"Madame?" Bush prompted.

She smiled at him, bright as sunshine. "Not that much older." She allowed. Then her tone dropped almost conspiratorially, "But aren't you even the least bit curious about why you and the Doctor look alike?"

"It's unnatural," Stiles snorted and gave the Doctor an unfriendly look. He didn't like the man. Looking at this 'Doctor' was like looking at a frippery version of Lieutenant Bush and the fact that a frippery version of the razor sharp Lieutenant could even be imagined set the enlisted man's world view jolting.

"I am," the Lieutenant said flatly, "more concerned with what two British citizens are doing on a shoreline in France being chased by French troops."

"Oh."

"Well, understandable," the Doctor said, "And I'm sure that we'll clear that right up for your Captain."

The splash of oars hitting water was the only thing to be heard for several moments before the Doctor added, under his breath, "Though, if those really were French troops, we're in more trouble than I thought."

* * *

Miranda – Thanks for the feedback. There will be more on the way. Slowly, perhaps, but surely!

Sarlania – While I think that my 'voice' for the characters is starting to slip? I'll keep trying to update to get this one finished. Initially I'd seen 2 stories – this one ending in a slight cliffie sort of place. We'll see. Thank you for reviewing!

Wavesparkle7217 – It's great to hear that you think I've done a good job with the crossover aspect. blush And thanks for putting me on your favs list! Here's pinging it up again for ya ;)

Timelady Shayde – Keeping it up, Aye!

Bluedragon 1836 – Long delayed, but… another update for you. Thanks for reviewing and letting me know that it should be continued – that goes for everyone!

Waterfall – Horatio will show up in the next chapter. We'll see how /that/ goes! Thanks again for your feedback, Waterfall. It's great to hear the detail of what you think is working.


End file.
